


Never Again

by NoNameWriter



Series: We're All Mad Hatters [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Prequel!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:23:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoNameWriter/pseuds/NoNameWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Ryan doesn't drink anymore. Especially not in front of Gavin. </p><p>Based on the Mad Mercenary's introduction to the Fake AH Crew, or more particularly, the night he met a drunk Brit in a bar.</p><p>Mentioned in passing in (Penny for Your Life?), and I decided to elaborate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cliche #1: Climbing the Walls

Cliché as it sounded, Ryan first saw him across the bar.

He was leaning on the counter, one elbow almost in a bowl of salsa belonging to the man next to him and the other cradled beneath his jaw as he laughed a high-pitched squeal of delight at whatever the blonde bartender had just said as she slid a shot of some brown liquid in front of him. His wild bed-head stuck up at all angles, and his green eyes flashed around the bar as he leaned back and took the shot with the ease of someone very used to this scene.

Ryan was not used to places like this. But, it’d been a long day and he’d only been in town for about three hours at this point, so he didn’t know where the easiest place to get a bottle of something strong was. This bar had been the first thing he’d come across, and all he wanted was a drink or two before he found some other poor soul to trail, probably kill, and then crash at their place for a day or two before he headed farther south.

He hadn’t quite yet decided if the green-eyed man was this poor soul or not, when the guy noticed he was being watched. Instead of being weirded out (like everyone else was), he instantly smiled. He was across the bar and sliding up to the counter next to Ryan before the mercenary could even raise his glass to his lips, but his blue eyes watched every movement the young man made carefully.

“What you looking at me for, luv?” He smiled broadly, the British accent surprising the mercenary slightly, just for how out of place it was here. Ryan stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was just nice, or suicidal (he _was_ an intimidating presence after all, even without the mask). The man didn’t seem daunted by the awkward silence that greeted him, instead he smirked and leaned forward, pressing his thumb against the older man’s cheek and taking it down to show him a small streak of red. “Had a long day, I see.”

Ryan lifted one eyebrow slowly. “That is not paint.”

The man didn’t blink, he only smiled knowingly. “I think you should buy me a drink, luv.”

And that was how Ryan found himself nearly an entire bottle of scotch into the night, a British boy probably barely legal to drink in the states leaning into him and flicking bar peanuts at him while he slurred giggles in his ear. His name was Gavin, and he was the son of some rich guy in the area. Ryan probably should’ve been thinking about how he could use that information to make a quick buck, but he wasn’t. He found himself telling the green-eyed boy about the places he’d seen recently, the people he’d met.

And killed. Although, he didn’t specifically mention that bit.

For some reason though, he got the feeling that Gavin sort of knew, and yet he didn’t seem at all bothered by it.

“Geoff likes people too,” He said simply, mentioning again this vague father/friend figure he’d touched upon briefly over their conversation of the night, sipping on the whiskey Ryan had finally bought him. That information probably should have alarmed the killer-for-hire more, considering that people who killed people typically did not cross paths lightly with other people who killed people, but Ryan wasn’t like other people like him.

He was ok with the life he lived. He had a drink in his hand and a green eyed boy on his shoulder.

A green eyed man who was safely under the wing of someone who killed people, and if they killed people in any sort of way comparable to the way _Ryan_ killed people, then he was going to have some serious issues if he fucked the kid up in any way.

In a way it was like forbidden fruit. In another way, it was like courting death.

Ryan was not entirely opposed to this.

“Does he know you’re here?” Ryan asked quietly, in reference to this… indistinctly intimidating familial figure he’d mentioned, and Gavin pushed his glass around distractedly.

“Know? Please, he was _here_ a couple hours ago.” He chuckled. “Jack took him out though, he was too hammered and the tender was starting to get pissed.”

“Lightweight?”

“Opposite actually. He’s been chugging some high end crap since he woke up this morning, just finally hit his asshole limit I guess.”

Ryan lifted his gaze curiously. “And he cared what the bartender said?”

Gavin smirked as he took another swig—from Ryan’s glass this time, and he mercenary let him, watching his head tilt back, feeling warm fingers wrapped around his own on the glass. He licked his lips and smiled knowingly—smugly, in fact, and it irritated and intrigued Ryan simultaneously.

“Well… Jack likes it here. I’m fond of it too I guess, it has its moments, but he’d _definitely_ kill him if Geoffrey got us banned. He cares because Jack does.” He shrugged uncaringly.

“Jack your mom or what?”

Gavin snorted. “As if.” He leaned almost completely into the mercenary beside him, staring up into his blue eyes with sparkling green irises of his own. “He’s _much_ better.” He giggled like it was the funniest secret in the world.

Ryan watched him. Most of those he encountered thought he wore the mask because he liked to look emotionless and intimidating. Truth was, he didn’t need the mask to do that, he just liked the skull. And he got weary of washing blood of his face; it didn’t mix well with the face paint he liked to put on and he didn’t think it was sanitary to get other people’s blood so close to his mouth and eyes when he _didn’t_ wear the paint. Who the hell knew what diseases the people he ‘met’ had, and he wasn’t interested in contracting them. And I mean, statistically speaking, at least _one_ of those people he’d “met” had to have each of the blood diseases known to man, so ah, _no thank you._

The point was that the mask was just a practically, but his normal resting face could usually do the job too. His blank expression usually intimidated most people even if he didn’t mean to. They called his eyes cold and watchful, blank and eerie.

Gavin didn’t seem to have a problem with it as he stared back unabashedly, his grin never fading but only continuing to grow like a sun that just kept getting brighter. He was warm, and his laugh was kind of contagious, just as it was obnoxious. His personality while intoxicated was big and sloppily happy-go-lucky—the complete opposite of Ryan’s calm and composed quiet.

“So, Ryan the scotch guy,” Gavin began happily, his hands trailing from where they’d been resting casually on his leather clad arm to slide down and hook his fingers on either side of the mercenary’s belt by his hips. The stool he was sitting on seemed to rotate on its own, and their chests were inches apart—close enough to feel alcohol burdened breath on each others’ cheeks. “How did you come by Los Santos?”

Ryan didn’t react to the closing distance between them. He just blinked once, slowly. “I met a guy. He had a bus ticket for this place in his back pocket. He didn’t need it anymore.” He said simply.

“How fortunate. For me, that is.” Gavin grinned. He suddenly leaned back and examined a gun in his hand, and Ryan finally let his face flicker in surprise, realizing that was _his_ gun. He touched the harness under his jacket and realized one of the double armed holsters was empty—he hadn’t even felt it move. “Relax. Just looking.” He giggled, dropping it below the bar when the tender passed by with a couple of drinks for a couple behind them.

“You’ve got light fingers.” Ryan grumbled deeply, reaching out and wrapping his hand around the younger man’s wrist—playfully in a way, but also restraining. He was much stronger than the kid, obviously, so Gavin wouldn’t be doing anything, drunkenly or maliciously.

But he wasn’t inclined to associate anything Gavin did as being _malicious_ when the Brit just giggled and ran a hand over the barrel of the gun playfully, like petting a cat.

“I’m not gonna _shoot_ anyone with it, I already said Jack would kill us if we jeopardized his ability to enter this place.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “But I’ve got to say, it’s a beautiful weapon. Pretty unique ammo though; I’d bet it’s been a few cities since you’ve been able to reload properly.”

Ryan gave him that, shrugging half-heartedly.

“As you said. Pretty gun.”

The Brit grinned and made a show of pushing forward, moving his jacket aside to place the gun with overt gentleness back in its holster, and Ryan let him—without letting so much as a twitch of his finger escape his notice. He then watched carefully as the Brit leaned back and snagged a marker from the small counter below the bar where the tender kept her orders and grabbed the mercenary’s wrist clumsily. Ryan let him take his hand and push up his sleeve a little, popping the cap of the sharpie off and scribbling something over his skin.

A few seconds later, Gavin all but tossed the sharpie over his shoulder and grinned, quite proud of himself. Ryan saw two phone numbers, lifting an eyebrow at the boy curiously.

“Top one’s a guy I know. Tell him I sent you, he’ll give you all the ammo you want. No one around here uses those rounds anyway, I know he’s got a crate that’s been lying around for _ages_ waiting to be fired off.” He smiled smugly. It morphed into something else, something a bit more _heated_ when he took the last step separating them forward, and Ryan felt him press flush against his chest, green eyes suddenly not an inch from his own. “The bottom one’s mine. In case you’ll be in town another day or so.”

Ryan, despite his vigilance, could not tear his eyes away from the way Gavin licked his lips.

“Sounds like you’re leaving.” He noted calmly.

He shrugged once. “Geoff will notice I’m not home in the next hour or two. And if he doesn’t, Jack will. I’d rather them not send their watch dogs out looking for me and finding something they shouldn’t.” His grin morphed from sly to triumphant in a second. “However _tomorrow_ … I’ll be out with my friend, who will be out with his girlfriend and not giving two fucks about where I am. But if he admits I was out of his sight… well, daddy Geoff would be meeting him properly, and he’s quite protective sometimes. Trust me, this guy’s thoroughly trustworthy in keeping secrets.” He cackled.

Ryan felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “A strong sense of self preservation then.”

Gavin hummed lightly. “Something like that.”

Without further warning he leaned in and pressed his lips against the mercenary’s fearlessly. It didn’t last more than a second and wasn’t all that deep, but Ryan felt the heat from the way he leaned in hard and the hands trailing smoothly over his sides under his leather jacket.

And then he was gone, winking from a few feet away and then headed for the door without a backwards glance.

Ryan did more than just glance as he watched him go, and the boy was almost out the door by the time he decided he was going to stay in this abruptly lively city a ‘ _day or so’_ more.

But then, his keen eyes noticed two others in the bar watching the same young man waltz out the entrance. They were tall and obviously strong, dressed in dark colors and looking like drug dealers that’d just gotten a make-over. Hired muscle, for sure.

And then they got up and followed the young Brit outside in a way that was obviously supposed to be “casual”, the three of them disappearing into the night.

Ryan pressed his lips together and sighed once. He didn’t like doing this when he was drunk, it put his aim off slightly. But it didn’t stop him from getting up and grabbing the black mask tucked into the belt behind his back, and following the inevitable fight out into the early morning darkness.

 


	2. Cliche #2: Crime Doesn't Pay

Ryan watched Gavin sway slightly as he made his way down the side streets of Los Santos, heading for larger lights and heavier traffic it seemed. It made sense, if his father/friend/keeper was some high level crime boss, he wouldn’t be living in the crappy little brick houses and unlit alleys that littered this area. The Brit checked his phone, blue light illuminating him in the darker night, and the sound of his loud voice cheerfully chatting with someone on the other end was barely a whisper from the distance between them, but still noticeable.

Ryan also watched the two dark shapes try and trail the drunk boy, but they weren’t being _that_ subtle. He highly doubted Gavin wasn’t at least aware of them in the back of his heavily inebriated mind, which was probably why he’d gotten onto the phone and why he was taking the bigger roads with more functional street lamps on it when Ryan quickly deduced it was probably the long way considering the winding paths he was taking.

A part of Ryan’s mind told him that Gavin couldn’t be the son of someone so ominously dangerous as the man he’d hinted at before and not at least know how to take care of himself in a situation like this. Ryan hadn’t checked, but he was sure the Brit wasn’t completely unarmed.

And yet… another part remembered the way his hand had curled around the kid’s thin wrist, how frail it’d seemed compared to the strength he knew he himself possessed. If he’d wanted to, Ryan could’ve snapped his wrist as easily as blinking. No matter how armed he was, those two trailing him were obviously strong even if they weren’t smart or sneaky, and he wondered if Gavin would be enough, or if he’d actually need to step in.

His answer came, in the form of a shadow that moved not five feet in front of the Brit he was trailing. And not just _a_ shadow, but several. The two behind started moving faster, and four new ones suddenly flung out from a side alley, closing in on their target in seconds.

Seconds, that were just enough time for Gavin to drop his phone onto the side walk, and replaced in his hand was a small gun that Ryan couldn’t get a good look at as he started moving faster towards the fight. He wasn’t running yet, wondering if Gavin would be able to hold his own, and also slightly concerned about what the clumsy, drunk Brit might do with a gun and an approaching shadow that he didn’t know wasn’t a threat.

There were four shots. One missed, one hit, and two were fatal.

And then the gun was out of his hand and the younger man was being wrestled into the alley to the sound of small, forcefully muffled cries, all of them disappearing into the shadows just like that, the blue light from Gavin’s phone being cut off as it was slipped into one of the attacker’s pockets.

Now Ryan was running, but he’d only just got there when headlights came to life and momentarily blinded him, tires shrieking against the pavement in the previously quiet night. He just barely dove out of the way to avoid getting flattened by a dark van that exploded out of the gap between buildings, and screeched against the asphalt as it raced away down the street.

Ryan was left alone on the suddenly peaceful street. He decided this night was going to end up a lot more interesting than it’d started out.

000

Tracking the van was not all that hard, since he’d had a police scanner in his bag that he’d left behind the bar and could easily follow where reports of a dark van breaking every traffic law known to man was headed. Of course they lost the cops eventually, but a few, ah, _encounters_ with some druggies and dealers in the darker alleys gave him all the information he needed about where the big bad gang who’d tried to kidnap his Brit was hiding out.

It was pretty heavily guarded, probably excessively since they were obviously now guarding something that they were expecting someone else to come and actively try and retrieve instead of just protecting their hideout.

Luckily, Ryan had a plan for situations like this.

He walked up to the front gate and waved at the guards behind it. They looked at each other, then back at him, evidently confused. Still, they aimed their guns at him anyway. 

“Tell your boss Vagabond is here. Rumor has it he has a target for me.” He said evenly, and they shared a look again. One spoke lowly into a com on his shoulder and then just waited.

Eventually, they lowered the guns slightly at some unheard command, and one moved to open the gate. Ryan nodded to him and smiled, even though they couldn’t see underneath his mask.

Once they were dead (he had a reputation to keep up, mind you) he made for the main building they’d been leading him towards, keeping his body language calm but secretively examining the layout. Seemed like a warehouse, one of those run-of-the-mill criminal lairs, dark for the most part but glowing in a warm yellow light over in the northeastern corner. He figured that was the place he was due to meet someone and started picking a path through the alleyways of the maze of crates and hardware stored here. Lots of trucks, a lot of explosive and ammo, some food, some retail shit probably stolen, so on and so forth. It didn’t look like these guys were specialized in anyway, and none of the goods he passed had any drug-like nature to it so they either weren’t big enough to deal with that or they dealt with it on a very small scale.

As he approached his target, figures started popping up on the taller boxes. Silhouettes with guns, guards most like judging by their non-professional stances.

Good. He liked being the only natural killer in the room. Made things easier.

It was also easier if he had the element of surprise on his side, so he stuck to the shadows and took a slightly convoluted route to keep out of their line of sight, and he heard no one rise the alarm so he figured he was good. Ok, so “easier” might be an exaggeration—he just didn’t like having anyone in the room having just as much information that he did. Information was the _real_ advantage in any situation.

“… _what do you mean they’re **dead?** ”_ He heard a voice say as he approached his target. Loud, blunt, slightly northern accent. Had a slight waver on the word “dead”, but enough demand behind his tone to expect an answer.

That was probably his target, the leader. He was also not a natural killer, which was even better.

“Urfer, Hess, call in your positions _now_ or I swear to God-!” He listened to the man curse and growl over a radio before he finally came into view. He was leaning over a set-up table covered in papers—along with some radios, a briefcase, a land line phone, and a handgun inches from his right hand.

Definitely not a natural killer. He himself would have to be completely stark naked to not have a weapon on him, and that guy had put his down in a moment of distraction as he called for his men. Not to say he was an amateur, but he was definitely barking up the wrong tree if his suspicions about what kind of protector Gavin had as a father/friend were anywhere close to accurate.

“They won’t be answering.” Ryan cut him off, sliding out from the shadow of a box and watching six guns swivel to point at him, as well as the pallor drain from his target’s face.

By the time he reached his gun it would be too late as Ryan curled a hand around the hunting knife strapped to the side of his thigh. Without a leader the rest would flee, he was sure. They weren’t high-caliber crew members, they were here for whatever this crime-lord wannabe was paying them. It wouldn’t take much to snag one before they got out, have a little fun in search of the information he needed, and then it was just a matter of collecting Gavin and…

He cursed silently, letting his hold on the knife go, instead walking forward evenly and watching the man in front of him pick up his gun and point it at the mercenary in front of him. He would be so fucking pissed if this piece of crap was the death of him, but he forced himself to bite that down.

Because Gavin was already here—ten feet behind his captor and bound up tight, out cold and sleeping peacefully on the concrete floor with his blondish brown hair falling over his resting face. If he tried anything now, everyone would assume he was here on whoever Gavin belonged to’s payroll and shoot their hostage first. Particularly the guy standing over the bound Brit, whose stance was nothing like all the generic muscle around this place.

No, that guy actually had skill. Not a natural killer, but a forged killer. Arguably that was worse, and technique aside he had a rifle pointed loosely at the ground instead of the intruder, and therefore had it aimed less than a foot from Gavin himself.

How he’s missed that guy upon first glance, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like him at _all_ , it was damn near a _mistake._

Which was ridiculous.

Then he realized he had about half a bottle of scotch in his veins right about now, despite it being nearly an hour since he’d stopped drinking.

God damn it, there was a _reason_ he didn’t drink while he was working.

He shook that all off for later consideration as he continued to move forward slowly until he was within polite speaking distance of his now not-target. He wasn’t one for a lot of talk though, so he remained quiet. The guy already knew what had happened to his men by now, and he obviously knew who the Vagabond was, so he’d let him go first.

Eventually he lowered the gun an inch, clearing his throat and creasing his brow.

“Who said I had a target for you?” He demanded. The entire warehouse seemed to hold their breath in the tension, but Ryan just enjoyed it with a silent smirk to himself. He loved his reputation.

“Just some rumors. I’m only in town for a couple days, thought I’d take a job.” He said easily.

The guy finally lowered his gun completely, though it didn’t leave his hand. He seemed to think it over for a long two minutes, before nodding.

“… there is a target, although I’d already started a plan to corner him.” He hedged. He was nervous, Ryan could pick it out in the waver of his brown eyes, but he was growing in confidence as he realized the Mad Mercenary wasn’t here to kill him.

“I assume _that_ is part of it.” He tilted his head towards where the unconscious boy lay behind him. The man glancing over his shoulder at the Brit and shrugged.  

“Yes, partly.” He agreed slowly, pausing for a full ten seconds as he deliberated something, probably wondering how much information to reveal to this infamous killer. When he seemed to reach a decision, he cleared his throat a little. “His name is Gavin Free. He’s the brat of the leader of the Fake AH Crew, Geoff Ramsey, and I fucking hate those sons of bitches—every single one of them. Ramsey really screwed me over a couple years ago and I want him dead. It’s taken me this long to rebuild everything he took from me, and now that I’m back in the game I took his kid as leverage to get him out in the open. Figured I could make bank on this too, if he pays a ransom before I kill them both.”   

Ryan remained silent, taking all that in. For being nervous he rambled quite a bit. Not to mention that was a lot of info to spill to a killer-for-hire. He obviously didn’t do it a lot.

But the information had its perks.

He _had_ heard of the Fakes. They were nationally known as fucking psychos and some pretty bloody criminals. No wonder Gavin hadn’t seemed all that alarmed by the blood on his face; it was probably a very familiar sight.

And they were Ryan’s sort of people.

The guy spoke again, “Now, I’ll give you half a million to just finish the job and serve Ramsey’s head on a plate. Another hundred thousand or so for every other member of the Fake AH Crew you take out along the way—there are four others, so it’s a chance at a whole million.” He offered, and Ryan felt his eyebrows lift in surprise beneath his mask. This guy _really_ wanted Ramsey dead.

And money aside, this was interesting as hell.

“Deal.” He decided. “And the kid?”

The man shrugged. “He wasn’t going to live past this. The brat’s a royal fucking flirt and the whole city knows it, so even if Ramsey had paid a ransom I was just gonna let my men have some fun with him. Might even have some fun myself, just to make Ramsey a little more livid when he hears what’s happened to his precious brat. Lord knows the kid’s made enough smart-ass responses in the hour he was awake to make me want to force him to really choke on his words.” He said simply, smiling a slimy, hungry grin.

Ryan immediately did not like that plan.

Or _anybody_ in this warehouse, for that matter.

And those he did not like, did not live long.

“Pissing a target off too early introduces risk for failure.” He said blankly instead. “I’ll get the job done. If you want the target to pay in his last moment, I can take the kid to kill in front of him or… _something_.” He said uncaringly, like it didn’t matter to him either way. Which, normally it wouldn’t.

Technically, he’d have said the same exact thing were he actually taking this deal and not planning a double-cross, so it was the perfect cover.

The man seemed highly pleased. “I’d appreciate it,” He smiled a smarmy grin. “Ramsey fucking deserves to see his fucking pet gutted as painfully as possible. I’ll leave the details to you.”

Ryan just nodded and walked over to where Gavin was still out cold and oblivious to the danger he had been in until now. With little effort he hooked the Brit’s zip-tied arms around his shoulders and heaved him up like he weighed nothing, standing and briefly meeting the guy hovering over him face-to-mask.

He _really_ wanted to kill that guy, just on principle, but he had a hostage over his shoulders he didn’t actually want dead right now, and starting a fight like this (not to mention with as much scotch in him as he did right now) would not be good.

So he shelved that thought.

He nodded to his new employer as he headed for the door, confident no one would stop him now. One of the henchmen tossed him some car keys to what he figured was an unmarked car outside, and he walked out the front door without too much of a problem.

 


	3. Cliche #3: Blind as a Bat

He set up in a small hotel not far from where Gavin was taken, in the lower recesses of the city to get his act together. Dropping his new “hostage” on the bed and confident he was too drugged to wake up in the next couple hours or so, he collected his stashed weapons and wandered around the streets finding other small time criminals who made the _extraordinarily_ unfortunate mistake of trying to mug him. That was where he learned the Fake AH Crew’s rumored location, as well as some other rumors about them.

It seems it was no secret that Ramsey had some junior members of his main crew that he treated like his sons, including a young British boy he’d adopted into his business who could usually be found around town in bars and at parties and just enjoying the scenes of life. It all seemed to fit into what Ryan had seen of Gavin in his short time with the kid, and he even got confirmation on how insane he’d been to show any interest in the boy when he saw his informants’ expressions when he told them the Brit had been kidnapped. Apparently fucking with Ramsey’s kids was a death sentence.

And not just because of Ramsey—apparently his second in command was like the boy’s keeper, and the number one attack dog in the crew happened to be the Brit’s best friend. Not to mention the crew’s sniper—who often went out to parks every other Sunday afternoon for target practice— was oddly protective of the kid too, in a silent way that meant those that gave the Brit a hard time usually ended up with a bullet in their brain from five hundred meters away.

It seemed that Ryan had picked the absolute most dangerous person to hang out around for the night, and not because Gavin was that much of a threat, and for practically every other reason.

He had some very protective and highly weaponized friends and parental figures.

It didn’t daunt him though, he was actually kinda liking how his day had turned out. He thought up a plan as he traced his steps back to the motel. His hostage stirred when he closed the door with a bit of force behind it, and he went and sat in the chair in the darkest corner of the room, watching as Gavin’s green eyes flickered open blearily. He didn’t seem coherent, thoroughly dazed for a couple minutes as he blinked slowly and was obviously thinking about taking deep breaths as the drugs continued to mess with him as they faded away in potency. 

Eventually, he seemed to come around more clearly, tilting his head around to see where he was, and it didn’t take very long for his gaze to find the dark, masked figure in the corner.

And Ryan was thankful he had the mask on, when to his complete and utter surprise, Gavin just smiled.

“I knew you’d come after me.” He said, his throat raw but cheeky as it’d been a couple hours ago in the bar.

Ryan stared.

There was _no way_ this kid had known who he was when he’d walked into that bar without a mask on. Was he guessing now, or did he actually know who he was under the skull? Did he even know what the skull _represented?_

He was at a loss.

Which was a very unwelcome first.

“Ryan.”

His entire body tensed, and he stood abruptly. He’s been compromised, he’d been compromised _badly._ The fucking hell had just happened!? He thought he had this under control.

He obviously didn’t.

In two strides he was by the bed, one of the guns out from under his jacket and pressed against Gavin’s temple, the kid still zip-tied and unarmed, looking hazed and weak from the drugs. One twitch of his finger and no one need ever know this night happened at all. Ramsey would blame the gang who’d hired him if he walked away now, or better yet he could go through with the deal he’d made and use Gavin’s corpse to ring fear into his Ramsey’s eyes right before he and his crew died by the Mad Mercenary’s hand.

One little bullet—just one amongst the thousands he’d shot in his lifetime—and he’d go back to being mysterious and deadly. Because he wore face paint and the mask to keep himself hidden, so that he could continue his work free of persecution and grow that handy little reputation of his, and this little British brat was the biggest threat to that he’d ever come across.

He’s killed hundreds and hundreds of people without even blinking.

But he was hesitating now.

Because Gavin was smiling at him broadly, completely unconcerned that he was about to be shot in the head.

“If you’re going to kill me, at least take off the mask so I can see those pretty blue eyes properly.” He teased boldly, and Ryan narrowed his look at him.

“How did you know?” He demanded, pressing the gun sharply into the young man’s head, but threats apparently were useless when Gavin just giggled lightly.

“I’m a hacker, Ryan. I know a lot of things I shouldn’t.” He grinned coyly up at him. “Like how I knew Foyat was planning to kill Geoff, even if it took his last breath to do it. Like how I knew there were men set after me, and how I knew you’d come be my knight in shining armor.” He pushed himself up awkwardly and managed to get into a sitting position so that his face was closer to his captor’s. Ryan’s gun did not leave him, but he seemed unperturbed by it.

“ _I_ didn’t even know.” Ryan countered defensively.

Gavin flashed him a wild, manic smile.

“I know.” He laughed, and Ryan felt himself lower his weapon to his side.

“You knew who I was before I walked into that bar, didn’t you.”

“Yes,” He admitted easily. “I was tracking you. I got my father and Jack to go to that bar, and I slipped something in Geoff’s drink to make it look like he had to go home early. He drinks like a fish, no one in their right mind would believe him when he said he hadn’t had enough to get that drunk, not even the people who know him, and in the ruckus he put up Jack didn’t even think about making me come home with them. I knew those men were in the bar waiting for me to leave, I knew where the others were waiting for me, and I knew you were following me.”

Ryan felt a little dazed.

“How did you know I’d bother to get you back from them?”

He shrugged once.

“Faith?” He offered half-heartedly.

Ryan sat down on the edge of the bed, completely thrown by all of this. Gavin just smiled gleefully to himself and edged forward so he could lean against the older man’s shoulder and rest his head down playfully in the crook of his neck.

“You know who I am.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

“The Mad Mercenary. Responsible for a confirmed 327 deaths, and a suspected roughly 200 more. You’re a contract killer, the Vagabond, the world’s more psychotic and lethal murderer-for-hire, worth millions in bounties on your head and things you’ve stolen, number one on several watch lists, and apparently you like scotch more than whiskey. And I learned tonight your name is Ryan.”

“I could’ve given you a fake name.”

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“… not technically.”

Gavin laughed gently at that, pressing closer to Ryan’s side comfortingly. Ryan thought this over some more, still highly unnerved by it all. Which was an entirely new feeling for him that he really didn’t like very much.

“You knew who I was, and you still got close to me. I was about to kill you a minute ago, and you didn’t even blink.”

He felt Gavin shrug slightly against him. “The most you can do is kill me, love,” He leaned around and used his still-tied hands to take the older man’s chin and tilt his face into his own. He tugged at the mask, and Ryan let it come off, revealing the face Gavin already knew was underneath it. He leaned in and kissed him again, more soundly than before, just as heated, but also… more calmly. When he pulled back he was smirking in a sly, smoldering way.

“Whether you were willing or not, you’ve saved the life of someone I love tonight. You could take anything you want from me as payment for that, I don’t need it. But I’m not afraid of doing what needs to be done, even if it means courting danger—literally.” He chuckled thoughtfully. He kissed him again for a long minute, and then spoke against his lips, “I’d do a lot worse to protect the people I care about.”

At first Ryan just sat there, awash in all that had happened. He had been played by a kid with green eyes, and he’d _completely_ fallen for it. It was a blow to his ego, but also… a spark to his life, a disruption from his routine. It was something _more._

And then Ryan kissed him back, carding his fingers through the Brit’s hair softly at first, and then a bit harsher. He felt Gavin chuckle lightly, his breath ghosting against his lips as their kiss deepened. He tasted like whiskey and mint, and he smelled like gun smoke and grass and that distinctly sweet, pungent scent of chloroform. He was warm as he leaned entirely onto Ryan’s form, his restrained hands curling tightly into the front of the mercenary’s leather jacket.

Ryan brought the gun in his hand up and slammed it into the side of his head with a carefully measured amount of force—just enough to knock him out, not enough to kill him. Their kiss ended when the Brit slumped down, out cold and into Ryan’s arms, his head lolling back limply as his expression went blank in sleep—blood seeping into his blondish hair.

Ryan only spared his resting face a moment’s consideration before standing and tossing the young man’s body over his shoulder for the second time that night, scooping up his mask and his weapons bag as he slipped out the door and into the early hours of the morning.

He had a meeting with the Fake AH Crew.


	4. Cliche #4: Ass Over Teakettle

Ryan only had to kill one guard to get into the apartment complex his targets lived in, and only that because they had a key that let him use the private elevator up to the correct floor he needed. It would’ve been surprisingly little security, if Ryan didn’t figure that these guys were more than dangerous enough to protect themselves. And from what little he’d heard by way of reconnaissance when hunting this place out, apparently Ramsey was a “do it yourself” sort of crime boss who liked to get his hands dirty. Ryan could appreciate that mentality—after all, he had no interesting in running any sort of crime organization, he just liked killing people, so the getting your hands dirty bit he could understand.

Still, one would’ve thought there’d be a _little_ more security than there was. One would also think he’d get more looks with an unconscious man on his shoulder than he did. Apparently it must not have been that strange a sight around here.

It was almost five in the morning by the time he made it, but no one was asleep judging by the yelling that could be heard around the entire floor.

“-THEN FUCKING FIND HIM OR I’M GONNA FUCKING START PUTTING BULLETS IN EVERY FUCKING KIDNEY I SEE, GOT IT!?”

Ryan blinked a little in surprise, following the direction the sound came from in a small lull of silence that followed.

Then:

 “THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT.”

Pause.

“NO I’VE NEVER SEEN A KIDNEY—SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

Then another voice chimed in to match the first one’s volume, although slightly surpassing it somehow. “YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE FUCKING WORRIED GOEFF—WHO WAS WITH THE IDIOT LAST, HUH?!”A gunshot rang out, and the second voice yelped. “SON OF A BITCH!”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY GOD DAMN MOTHER, DICKHEAD?!”

Ryan paused outside the door he figured lead to the right apartment, fixing his mask out of habit and brushing off some of the dried blood on his jacket, adjusting Gavin so the unconscious Brit was more firmly resting on his shoulder. He knocked on the door politely, and waited.

The shouting cut off, and there was the sound of footsteps stomping across the ground. Whoever had come to inspect was obviously going to check the peephole, so Ryan stepped to the side and out of its view. Whoever was inside was obviously not dumb enough to think there wasn’t someone there, and Ryan heard the familiar click of a safety coming off.

He slipped his own gun out, and waited.

When the door opened, he slid forward in a smooth motion that gave the impression that he’d always been there. He was unsurprised to see someone aiming a gun at general head level, just as the shorter red-haired man seemed completely unsurprised to see someone materialize in front of his door with a gun of his own pointed at his face.

He did however, balk a little when he realized that the masked figure was carrying someone he knew.

“Delivery.” Ryan announced blankly.

His gaze flickered inside the room, to where three others were standing tensely around a neatly decorated living room, all with guns of their own by their sides. A red haired man with an epic beard had two muzzled pistols in each hand, a puerto rican man about Gavin’s age with a bright pink assault rifle casually slung over his shoulder but a small silver dagger spinning around his nimble hands distractedly, and a man in a fine looking suit with a truly impressive mustache twirling a berretta in his tatted fingers casually.

“Michael.” The man in the suit said in a sharp order, and Ryan recognized him to be the first voice who’d been yelling. The red head who had Ryan in his sights slowly backed up into the room more, letting the mercenary walk in. Ryan took in his surroundings carefully, as well as his companions here, and realized they weren’t about to start shooting with one of their own in the line of fire. At least, they weren’t going to make the first shot.

He figured he needed to make sure they kept thinking that way.

Especially because, unlike that Foyat guy as Gavin called him… these four were all natural killers. It was obvious in the way they held themselves, they way the breathed and moved. Every single one of them was born like him.

That kind of opposition was intense, even for him. If it came to exchanging bullets, he wondered (for the first time in… well, for the first time) if he would actually make it out of here alive. It was an interesting thought—not exactly terrifying or frightening, just… interesting. He wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with the threat of death since it’d never really been a problem for him before.

He kind of liked it.

“You should be more careful about the things you misplace. Not all people will return them.” He said evenly, maneuvering so that he could ease Gavin onto the ground in front of him. The Brit remained unconscious, blood trickling from his hair onto the carpet a little bit as he lay on his back on the middle of his own living room, oblivious to the tense standoff around him.

Ryan took a careful step back, and dropped his gun from the red head to point at the Brit instead. That motion, it seemed, was more concerning since they finally stopped acting distantly apathetic about the situation and actually tensed up some. Especially the red head, Michael, who had yet to lower his gun an inch.

“Who are you?” The man with the beard demanded quickly, instead of letting anything get out of hand.

“Oh, I know him.” The man in the suit—the one Ryan was assuming to be Ramsey himself, judging by his stance and commanding tone— took a step forward and casually spun his gun once more by his side, still out but not really at the ready. “The black skull kind of gives it away. You’re the Mad Mercenary.”

They all tensed at that point, obviously having heard the name before. Ryan was pleased.

He offered a small shrug, not commenting either way but internally quite chipper about being recognized by a psycho crime lord.

Said crime lord snarled a little bit at the lack of response. “The fuck you doing in Los Santos?” He demanded.

“I think you know, Ramsey.”

Now every gun in the room except his own was leveled at him. He was actually impressed with their speed, he’d give them that. Again, it gave him pause about crossing them now.

It didn’t bother him that badly though, he just continued.

“My employer had some big plans for you, you know. He was more than gracious with his pay if I made you suffer before the end—something to do about handing this kid over to his men for some entertainment. Or perhaps using his corpse to send a message.” He explained, crouching to Gavin’s side and pressing his gun to the Brit’s temple. Their reactions were obviously not pleased—all of them becoming twice as tense as before.

“ _Had_ plans?” Ramsey said smoothly, sounding and acting a lot more calm than everyone else was. He took a few steps forward to come almost within spitting distance of the Brit and his captor, his gun leveled at Ryan’s head but his body language suggesting that he wasn’t about to shoot just yet. “As in, the plans have changed?”

Ryan titled his head to the side, which was the most expression he could give behind the mask, and shrugged.

“You’re willing to double cross.” The man with the beard lowered his gun an inch, cocking an eyebrow and looking at Ramsey with a pointed look. Ramsey seemed to grumble a little and nodded to him before giving Ryan a once over warily.

“I _might_ buy that.” He said slowly, suspicion in his eyes clear as day. “But I’m curious. You’ve got a reputation, as I’m sure you know, and from what I hear you don’t hesitate— _ever._ There isn’t a kill in the world you haven’t taken no matter the price range, and since I know I’ve got enemies I can probably safely assume whoever hired you wasn’t going cheap. Why _on earth_ does the fucking _Vagabond_ want to double cross someone _now?”_

Ryan paused a little. That was… a fair point. He’d never double-crossed anyone before now; he was in it for the killing, not the money like a lot of people in his field were.

Ramsey was probably in the right for being suspicious as hell about this.

And Ryan really didn’t have a problem with stating the blunt truth usually—typically those that heard him were ok with his psychosis because they were hiring him for it, and those that took issue were either targets or ended up dead anyway. Lying was… not foreign but not entirely easy for him.

Which made it difficult now, because he planned on keeping what had happened between him and Gavin secret—he didn’t need anyone else knowing how badly he’d fucked up by drinking too much and getting conned by a stupid Brit (again, he had a reputation to keep). So instead, he gave a half truth that was still accurate in its own way. And, you know, maybe playing up the ‘ _I saved your kid, don’t shoot me’_ vibe, which might make things go a bit smoother.

“I have no problem killing people. It’s actually one of the better career decisions I’ve ever made, to be honest. However I’m not interested in the… sort of _entertainment_ my employer had in mind. Murder is one thing… rape is another. I’m honestly not fond of those who are ignorant enough to think those two can go hand in hand.” He abandoned his threatening pose of Gavin to stand and let his weapon rest by his side, titling his head at the room again. He noticed they were still pretty coiled, ready to fight, but none so much as Michael, whose hands were shaking as he kept his gun locked on Ryan. His face was flushed red in obviously barely-contained rage. “We all know it takes a different sort of psychopath to do what was asked of me. He just hired the wrong guy, it seems.”

Ramsey looked slightly paler than he had before, but that was all the indication Ryan got for how upset he was over the news about what had almost happened to his young crew member. He kept his relaxed persona up impeccably well.

And it seemed the ‘ _I saved your kid’_ method was working, when the crime lord lowered his gun to his side and gave the mercenary across from him a leveled, curious look.

“You’re seriously looking to double cross?” Ryan nodded once in a clear affirmative. Ramsey pressed his lips into a line. “Ok then. I’m willing to talk numbers… nobody _shoot_ anybody for the next half hour, ok? Jack,” He nodded to the bearded man who moved forward towards where Gavin still lay still on the floor, kneeling to check his head wound.

The other two guns also lowered at Ramsey’s cue, but neither of them looked very relaxed as Ryan drifted to the side where Ramsey had moved to pour a drink from a bottle of some sort of high end alcohol into two glasses. He offered one to Ryan, who shook his head.

Fucking alcohol had caused the worst mistake in his otherwise near-perfect career, and he wasn’t interested anymore. He already wasn’t enjoying the beginnings of the headache the scotch was giving him, so all benefits of the supposed vice had suddenly lost their color. What he _really_ liked was killing people… and other such activities… but being drunk didn’t seem to help him do that, and hangovers were always a bitch, so he passed.

Not put off by the rejection and simply tipping the second glass into his own, Ramsey got down to business. “Who hired you?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.” No need to mention the name Gavin had let drop. Ryan was just going to pretend that entire confrontation had never happened.

“How did you know they were looking to hire a killer anyway?” The next question drilled into him.

“Big warehouse, guarded by guns and trucks, off the grid. People like that are always hiring.” Ryan said simply, not lying exactly, but toeing the line. Ramsey leaned back and looked thoughtful, shrugging and accepting that. He wouldn’t doubt an infamous killer’s ability to find jobs.

“What was your assignment?”

“To kill you. There were bonuses for every one of your crew I managed to take out too, along with if I made you suffer somehow using the kid.”

Ramsey shook his head, his fingers pinched around his glass sharply as he took a heavy draw from it. “Did they hire you to kidnap him?”

“No.” Ryan said, sparing his emotionless tone the leniency to sound mildly surprised, matching the other man’s expression at that answer. “He was already there when I showed up. Apparently they had their own plans, but my arrival made it easier.”

“Do you know how long he was there?”

“Couldn’t have been more than a couple hours. They seemed determined to get their plans underway, and originally they thought they might get you to pay a ransom. If you never got a call, I assume I stepped in during the early stages.”

Ramsey made a face at that, but his blue eyes clearly said he was relieved. At least Gavin’s captors didn’t really have the time to do anything too terrible to him.

“So what, you just took him and came here to talk instead?”

Ryan flashed back to what was probably the most stressful night he’d ever spent in a motel room. God damn that British brat and his green eyes and all the fucking _scotch…_

“Essentially.”

“And what are you looking for?”

“To make the man who hired me realize I’m a murderer, not a rapist. They’re extraordinarily different occupations that require different skill sets, and I’m not fond of when people mistake the two.” He explained conversationally, and now he could see he was getting odd looks from around the entire room.

One of them was from Ramsey himself, who was looking a little wary. “Ok then… how were you going to do that?”

“I was going to kill him.” Ryan said honestly. And that was entirely true—he didn’t want the idea that he could double-cross anyone added to his reputation. That could make business annoyingly tricky in the future, so it was best to tie up all the loose ends. Foyat didn’t seem to have _that_ many men on his payroll… maybe seventy or so, which sound more like a fun weekend rather than anything difficult.

Ramsey nodded slowly. “Right. A little more specific?”

Ryan sighed a little. What, did they think he _planned_ all his kills? “Well, I suppose I could fake kill you, go collect his reward money, and _then_ kill him. Is that specific enough?”

Ramsey rolled his eyes, but smiled half-way. “Right, of course. How do I fake-die then?”

Ryan grinned beneath his mask although no one would see it, taking the sides of his jacket and opening them for the crew boss to see. Everyone either cried out in alarm or took several steps back upon seeing the collection of bombs he had hooked to his jacket’s inside.

“How fond are you of this apartment?”

“Very!” Ramsey exploded, looking baffled and slightly amused as he came forward again after skittering backwards a bit.

“Oh. Well, do you have a van or something you don’t mind losing? A car or two? I could go find some bodies of approximately all your sizes to blow up, that might be fun. Like a scavenger hunt.”

“Oh I like this guy,” The puerto rican man exclaimed with a big grin on his face, now that the bomb shock had worn off and he had come slightly closer to inspect the explosives himself.

Ryan felt a sliver of pride at the younger man’s notably appreciative look at the explosives. Him and the kid had a shared taste in weapons it seemed, since the rifle on his back was almost a carbon copy of the one Ryan had stashed back in his bag. Just… not quite as _pink._

“Jesus Christ.” Ramsey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took another sip from his drink and gave the mercenary a calculating look. “How much do you want for this? Do you have a price range?”

He was asking him to name a number? Fuck, he must be really thankful to have his Brit back.

But, money honestly wasn’t why Ryan did this anymore. He was already a millionaire a dozen times over since he rarely bought anything but food and weapons and passage around the world to continue his work.

So after a moment’s pause, he shrugged. “You were right in that my employer wasn’t cheap about it. I’m fine with taking that money if you are willing to play along.”

The rest of the crew paused in whatever they were doing to raise eyebrows and look at him wildly.

“Wait, _seriously?”_ The puerto rican man blinked.

“Shut up Ray,” Ramsey shot at the kid without tearing his furrowed gaze off the killer in front of him. “What’s the catch?” He demanded sharply.

Honesty, always the best policy. Plus, their reactions were funny, so Ryan allowed himself a low, deep chuckle.

“ _Money_ is not why I’m good at my job.” He said simply, knowing his smile was clearly audible in his tone.

He watched Ramsey mull that over, his blue eyes widening only just barely enough for Ryan to pick up his alarm at that. He watched Ray shrug like he agreed with that while Michael clenched his gun tighter from where he was crouched over the unconscious Brit across from where the man Ramsey had called Jack was tending to him.

And speaking of said Brit…

“Bloody hell…” A low groan interrupted their stand-off, and the Fakes all tensed and looked over as a pair of green eyes blinked to life. He seemed to stare at the ceiling for all of ten seconds before squinting harshly. “Wha’ happened?”

“BOI!”

Ryan blinked, realizing the angry red-head who’d been silently seething at him since he’d got here had done a one-eighty as he leaned into Gavin’s field of vision and grinned like a little kid—red curls, freckles, and two matching dimples making the once-terrifying guard into an excited teenager at the drop of a hat.

“Oh hey boi,” Gavin chirped, also perking up at he met a brown-eyed gaze. “OW!”

Said brown-eyed boy hit him ( _hard)_ in the stomach, causing him to gasp sharply and Jack to sigh in exasperation as he tried to press gauze into the Brit’s still-bleeding head wound while he flailed at the hit.

“That’s what you get for getting your fucking ass kidnapped by that low-life creep!” He shouted, and Ryan felt a ringing in his ears from the sheer volume.

“Who? Foyat? Nah, the wimp wasn’t gonna kill me Micool!”

Ryan frowned a little, fairly certain Gavin had just butchered his friend’s name, although Michael seemed to have other things on his mind at the moment.

“NO, HE WAS JUST GONNA FUCK YOU TO HUMILATE US,” He bellowed.

“Micool!”

“Gavin!”

“Micool!”

“I’M NOT DOING THIS AGAIN YOU BASTARD! YOU GOT THE SHIT KICKED OUT OF YOU AND KNOCKED OUT BY A LAME SECOND-CLASS NO-NAME CRIMINAL WHO COULDN’T SHOOT HIS WAY OUT OF A WET PAPER BAG SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

“Jack, do we have an aspirin?” Geoff asked the bearded man, seeming ignoring what was happening in front of him and pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.

“Second shelf on the left.”

“Right,” Ramsey stalked off towards a kitchen area while Ryan just crossed his arms thoughtfully, taking all this in.

“Michael stop shouting, my head hurts!” Gavin complained in a whining voice.

“It’s your own fault for getting your ass handed to you by some shit-face like Foyat!” The red-head snapped back, and Ryan was quite surprised there wasn’t literal fire on his breath.

“Stupid Foyat didn’t knock me out!” The Brit struggled to sit up, trying to defend his pride valiantly, and managed to get upright before Jack could push him back down.

“Wait, then who knocked you out?” Jack forgot the gauze in his hand for a moment in surprise, echoing Michael’s expression.

“Well, you wouldn’t believe it but-”

At that moment Gavin’s head turned to scan the entire room, hoping anyone would believe him, and landed on a black skull mask staring hauntingly at him from across the room, eye holes alarmingly dark and shadowed.

Ryan was fully aware that Gavin was 100% aware of the color of his eyes, and wondered just for a moment what he would do.

“YOU!”

Hm. That really didn’t tell him anything.

“Me.” He acknowledged.

“Why did you knock me out you big jerk!?”

The entire room seemed to pause, looking from Gavin to the Vagabond with wide eyes—Ramsey actually pausing from attempting to get some pills from a bottle of painkillers in the kitchen to look up in slight alarm and a lot of curiosity when he heard that.

“Wait…” Jack looked to Ryan, then back at Gavin, and then back again, fixing the Mad Mercenary with a narrowed look. Considering who he was, Ryan thought it impressive and quite brave that the kindly, gentle bearded seemed so directly pissy with him, though he attributed it to the tender care he’d been showing Gavin, sort of like a mother bear in a way. “Foyat didn’t…”

“Foyat’s goons drugged me! Fucking chloroform the idiots, as if they were amateurs!” Gavin grumbled unhappily, before nodding towards Ryan with a jerk of his head and an irritated glare. “ _This_ bastard knocked me out on our way here!”

Everyone’s head swiveled to stare at the man in the mask.

Who really didn’t care.

He shrugged once.

“Well, you talk too much.”

A full three seconds of silence filled the room at that statement, before Michael and the quiet kid in the hoodie who’d been standing off to the side snorted involuntarily as if unable to contain their humor. Jack shot the Vagabond an acidic look and then went to work on Gavin’s injuries again. One glance over to the kitchen saw Ramsey not giving a shit, downing two white pills with another swig of whatever was in his glass—which Ryan was pretty sure wasn’t a good combination, but whatever.

“Oh come on, Micool! It’s not that funny!” Gavin complained as Michael kept grinning like a Cheshire cat.

The angry red-head snorted once at that, looking remarkably calmer now that the Brit was awake and apparently ok—not the mention the fact he had strategically placed himself between the younger man and the mercenary across the room.

It was in interesting dynamic they all had here, Ryan noted. And he also noted that Gavin had not revealed a thing about their encounter. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t, but for the moment he considered their secret safe—after all, the Brit hadn’t implied any uncertainty about whether or not the mercenary would’ve killed him or not. The way he’d phrased it made it sound like he’d been awake at Foyat’s and was in on the plan to return him safe to his crew from the very beginning, just getting knocked out for being annoying instead of any other reason, even if that had never been close to true.

Or maybe that had been the plan from the beginning, Ryan just hadn’t been aware of it. After all, despite being here because he wanted ot be, Gavin was also exactly where he wanted to be too—and his current enemy was about to be taken care of by a world-famous killer at no cost to his own crew.

Ryan couldn’t help but feel like he was still somehow being played, but pushed it stubbornly from his mind.

Even if he was being used, Gavin had to remain on his good side in order to use him, which meant he wasn’t about to spill any secrets Ryan didn’t want spilled. Which meant those secrets were safe for the time being, which was fine by him. He’d address that dilemma later.

“Micool!” A loud voice broke him out of his musings.

“Shut up, let him fix you,” Ramsey told the Brit off as he walked back over to the bar, measuring the killer in front of him carefully once more. He sighed audibly. “Look… obviously you could’ve killed Gavin and didn’t. We’ve all thought about knocking him out at one point or another, so I can let that slide.” Ryan smirked heavily under his mask, highly amused by that confession. “I would say I don’t really have a choice in this; I’m in to run this con if you really mean this. I’ve got a couple cars downstairs you can use, and we’ll clear out for a week or so to make it look like we’ve kicked it.”

Ryan nodded silently, oddly pleased about the willing attitude the leader of the Fakes had now. Working with them probably wouldn’t be boring, and he was looking forward to it.

“I said _shut up_ and hold still for one fucking second!”

“But _Micool_ … you promised!”

“I said that before you went and got yourself kidnapped. Now I take it back.”

“Jerk! You can’t take it back you promised! You _pinky_ promised!”

“Shit dude, you can’t take that back.” The Puerto Rican boy chimed in, and the angry red head shot him a glare over his shoulder.  

“Shut up Ray, no one asked you. Gav, we are _not_ jumping off the roof until you’re not deliriously from blood loss and Jack’s looked at your parachute. You ran into a fucking tree, it’s bound to have holes.”

“The tree ran into me Micool!”

Ryan frowned, cocking a head at the conversation and turned his head towards Ramsey pointedly.

“Is he still drugged?” He wondered honestly.

The crime lord chuckled lowly, but in a fond way that made it immediately clear who the children of this crew were, and who looked after them. “Ah, no. That’s unfortunately just Gavin.”

The mercenary paused.

But that _wasn’t_ just Gavin. The Gavin Ryan had met last night was an entirely different person from this… child-like killer.

But considering how badly he’d been played, who the hell was he to say this _wasn’t_ the real Gavin? Maybe this was real and it’d always been a lie. Maybe he was lying now…

Well, it really didn’t matter. He’d leave town once this was all over and leave the Brit’s lies and this crew to themselves. Having… not friends, not allies, more… _people_ in this area of the world was probably going to come in handy someday too. They all had their own reputations, after all, and those reputations worked well with the one he’d cultivated thus far, so… you never knew.

“Hey, scary guy,” Ryan blinked under his mask and turned his head to the side, catching sight of the sniper-boy in a purple hoodie leaning casually against Ramsey’s bar and looking at him with a glint in his eye. “Where were you thinking of going for your scavenger hunt?”

Hm. Interesting.

“I don’t know this city well, I only got here yesterday. Any suggestions?”

The boy flashed a wicked grin. “A few. Need a hand?”

Need? Absolutely not.

“What’s your name?”

“Ray.”

“Lead the way, Ray.”

The kid punched the air dramatically before chucking his rifle over his shoulder. “Geoff! I’m going out!”

The crime lord coughed over his drink and exchanged a wild look with Jack, who also looked alarmingly surprised as his hands paused over where he was wrapping Gavin’s head in bandages. 

“What, with the lunatic!?”

“Wow, so rude Geoff.” // “Functional lunatic, actually.”

The mercenary and the sniper complained/corrected at the same time, and then looked at each other for a moment to absorb what was just said. Ray had just defended an infamously homicidal maniac he barely knew, and Ryan has just… well, admitted to it in a very… well, _casual_ way.

Everyone in the room stared at the two of them too, for similar reasons.

“Michael, go with them.”

“What!? I don’t want to, Ray’s the suicidal one!”

“Michael!”

“I’ll be fine Geoff,” Ray rolled his eyes, looking towards the masked killer next to him pointedly. “Promise not to kill me at least for the next 24 hours?”

Ryan honestly had no inclination of killing any of these people, which was a decidedly welcome first. 

Instead of answering he lifted one gloved hand—pinky finger out.

Ray looked like Christmas had come early as he latched his own pinky onto it and shook it once with a firm nod. “Fuck yeah—love this guy!”

“First Gavin, now Ray. I’m gonna be grey before I’m forty…” Ramsey started muttering fiercely under his breath, resigned to himself as he collapsed into one of the living room recliners and pointedly took a petulant swig from his glass.

“See ya!” Ray mock-saluted and then headed for the door, Ryan trailing after him curiously.

Yes, it had turned out to be a _very_ interesting night…

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blindfold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130063) by [missingnolovefic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic)




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